I have broken with myself.
Sickened of my own breath, I turned;
As smoke away from flame that burned
The sweet of wood, I turned from self.

Now I am not to touch with hand,
Nor see with eye, nor hear with ear,
And holding nothing hotly dear,
Know only what I understand.

Over my old self I lean
Like a ray of shattered light,
While a small untroubled night
Widens in the space between.